OF AQUAFINA WATER BOTTLES by Hallie Chametzky

THIS IS A POEM ABOUT A 24-PACK OF AQUAFINA WATER BOTTLES

Hallie Chametzky

This is all it is simply without, as they say, a catch

This is not a poem about Monroe Park which sits conveniently a few hundred feet away from the 24-packs of Aquafina water bottles close enough that one could hold a gulp in one’s mouth during the walk and release the gulp (which has, did you know, undergone a 7-step purification system) onto the feet of the bench dwellers who have finally found shade here if not a working water fountain No, This is not a poem about this park because it will be gutted and stuffed and mounted on the wall soon turned into a 6.2 million dollar dust pan which will brush up the bench people and the Aquafina water bottles at their feet

This is also, surely, not a poem about the James River a river in Virginia a state where one quarter of rivers churn a grayish-green dyed with coal-ash wastewater and often with plastic water bottles fallen from the springy netting on young, bouncing backpacks photodegrading absorbing packets of toxic time bombs waiting to be carried out to sea where